Rodney McKay was Dying A Vegas Tag Part 2
by Tangled up in Blu
Summary: Conitnuation of my Vegas episode tag "John Sheppard was Dying." Must read that or this will make little to no sense! Question: Is John Sheppard really a hero in every universe? Will a broken Sheppard help when McKay's life is on the line?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Rodney McKay was dying. He was sure of it . . . .and man, was he pissed off. Lying in the dark, dank closet, he tried to shift into a more comfortable position but nothing would alleviate the ache in his arms where the bindings held him in place. He couldn't believe, after all he had been through, all he had survived, that he was going to be taken out by a couple of thugs. Oh, yes, Dr. Rodney McKay was righteously pissed.

He was furious at Radek for being so dumb as to be caught in the first place. He was royally pissed off at John Sheppard for being such an ass and refusing to help. But mostly he was pissed off at himself for not waiting for back up, for getting caught.

As Rodney continued to list the screw-ups that led to his current condition, the door of the closet opened to reveal two shadowy figures. MdKay squinted his eyes and tried to scoot back away from the men but his body had long ago stopped obeying his commands. Picked up by the arms, McKay was dragged fifty feet and deposited on the operating table. He tried to struggle as the electrodes were again placed on his head and up his nose in his sinus cavities but he just had no strength. Strapped down, he waited for the inevitable pain to begin.

A limping walk could be heard just over McKay's shoulder as a ghostly white face came into view. For the first time, someone spoke, surprising McKay.

"You know, Doctor. No one has ever been as resistant to our probe as you. Perhaps it is due to your intelligence. Yes, it may have served you well in this circumstance to not be quite as smart as you are. However, we will find what we seek or you will die – more than likely both.

Rodney ran his tongue over broken bloody lips. His voice sounded like he had been swallowing gravel when he said, "You haven't asked me anything . . . .What do you want?"

The ghostly face smiled, his black eyes glittering. "Ah, Dr. McKay. You wouldn't tell us what we wanted to know. You may not even know you have the answer we seek. This is the best way." The ghost looked up and nodded to an associate. "the most reliable way."

Rodney tensed but there was no way to prepare for the agonizing pain that radiated through his body. His screams could be heard done the corridors and the other prisoners shuddered in fear, trying to hide in the darkened corners.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Days Before . . . _

John Sheppard was sure he was dying. The banging in his head was getting increasing louder and he thought that maybe a small family of gophers had taken up residence in his mouth the night before. He cracked one eye open experimentally but decided that wasn't going to work for him this morning and pulled a pillow over his head. Surprisingly, the banging in his head was muffled by the movement and somewhere in the recesses of his mind he realized that that meant the pounding wasn't in his head but somewhere in the room. It was coming from the door.

He had paid Mikey off as soon as he had gotten back last week so he knew it wasn't the bookie. He didn't remember a lot from the night before but was pretty sure he hadn't lost enough at the craps table that he couldn't pay for the room. Maybe he had slept past check out? But this was Caesars and he had dropped . . .John grimaced . . . maybe two thousand last night so he couldn't imagine they were eager to get rid of him yet. John grumbled. Whoever it was wasn't going away.

John carefully swung his legs out of the bed and paused to allow his stomach to settle. He had luckily slept in his pants and tee shirt. They were rumpled and smelled of the expensive bourbon and cigars he had consumed the night before but sure beat bending over and losing his stomach in a vane attempt to find a shirt or shoes. John opened his mouth to yell but found it was more of a croak. Clearing his voice, he tried again. "Keep your damn shirt on – I'm coming." Reaching for his sunglasses, he stumbled to the door.

John swung the door open only to see the pointedly annoyed Dr. Rodney McKay. His first thought was, 'Now what?' but he carefully hid his surprise, rolled his eyes and muttered "McKay" before turning from the door.

"Do you know how long I've been knocking?" The scientist impatiently asked as he let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

"Nope, don't care either." John said pointedly wandering into the bathroom but leaving the door open a crack so he can keep an eye – or at least an ear – on the scientist. God he felt like death warmed over. After relieving his abused bladder, he began to wash his hands and face, hoping to clear away some of the cobwebs. Swishing the hotel mouthwash, he heard McKay spouting off but didn't really listen. Strangely, he found the other man's voice reassuring even though it pitched between agitation and condescension in the next room. It was like his favorite Aunt Betty's singing voice, screetchy as hell but fun to hear anyway.

John ran his wet hands over his hair, decided this was as good as it was going to get and stepped out of the bathroom and fully into McKay's rant. The man's volume increased making John wish he had never answered the door.

" . . . and then I find out you quit the department! The one time I actually need a copper and the only one I know is awol." Rodney spun around and glared at Sheppard, wrinkling his nose. "and smells like a walking distillery." Rodney paced as he talked, adjusting his jacket to accommodate his belt and the ancient devise hanging there. John saw the scanner clipped to the doctor's belt and sighed. It was a wonder that McKay hadn't gotten mugged with that in plain view. John smiled as he imagined McKay filling out the police report.

"Are you even listening to me?" McKay demanded.

John took a deep breath trying to harness his emotions. "Yeah, well, after what I've seen, I thought maybe homicide wouldn't hold the excitement it once did."

John didn't want McKay there. . . or didn't want to want McKay there. He didn't want to think about gates to other galaxies and alien technologies and chairs that made you feel . . . .no, it was like cocaine. The rush was incredible but it was never worth the cost.

"Uh huh," McKay replied, waiting. When no other explanation was forthcoming, he decided to plow on. Moving into the room, Rodney picked up a dirty towel with two fingers from a chair and deposited it on the floor before taking a seat. "Yes, well it is inconvenient at best. I need your help."

John's eyebrows shot up for a second in surprise and then returned to their original position. He mercilessly beat down the feeling of . . .purpose? obligation? Meaningfulness? Whatever - back down. "I told you I wasn't interested in joining your galactic posse."

McKay smirked. "I'm Canadian. We don't have posses." The smile disappeared as Rodney's face grew somber again. "No, I need help tracking a missing person. We suspect he has been kidnapped and that they may still be in the city. It was our understanding that you have quite a few . . . contacts . . . throughout the more . . . seedy . . .community here in Vegas and you may be able to help us find him."

John snorted at McKay's foundering about trying to describe John, known for running with the worst of the worst Vegas had to offer but his interest was piqued in spite of himself. "So the guys who took him – we're thinking. . . . Earthling or . . .. "

"Yes, of course," Rodney replied impatiently and then stopped. "We're pretty sure, anyway."

John's mind ran over the hand full of people he had met while recovering at Area 51. "Anybody I know?" John asked as casually as he could.

"You met him – Zelenka? Dr. Radek Zelenka"

"You mean the little Russian guy?" John remembered nervousness, glasses and flying hair mostly.

"He's Czechoslovakian."

John bowed his head, running his hands through his hair making it stick up even more. "Whatever. I don't know what you expect me to do. As you so smartly pointed out, I'm no longer with the department so I don't really have any jurisdiction."

"WE have all the jurisdiction we need. What we need from you is information. We have to find him and quickly before we have enemies here on Earth as well as . . ." Rodney's hands fluttered in the air.

John grew quiet as his mind worked at lightening speed. They needed him – HIM. To rescue a lost colleague. John could respect that, understand the need. It was exactly that need – that responsibility - that lead to his current – situation? life. John's mind unwillingly flashed back to Afghanistan and the feel of Katie dead in his arms; to his dreams where everyone around him, McKay included, died in a tangle of fire and blood and drought.

Unconsciously, he began to sweat and his heart began to pound, bitter adrenaline flooding his mouth. This was a mistake. He could hardly keep himself afloat much less take responsibility for someone else's life. John closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. His initial response was best – always go with your gut instinct. McKay needed to leave.

Rodney's eyes narrowed as he watched John Sheppard's body visibly tense, almost drawing in on itself. He knew Sheppard had everything he needed to be someone of consequence, someone who made a difference – if he could just move beyond his demons. Rodney didn't know how to help the man – he wanted to - he just didn't have knowledge or patience.

"I don't think I can help you," John said in what Rodney now recognized as John's 'I am walking a fine line and could fall off the edge at any moment' voice.

John made no movement as a look of bitter disappointment flew across Rodney's face. He was used to seeing that – from his family, his superiors and although he showed no reaction, for some reason it hurt more coming from the man across from him.

Rodney said nothing for a moment. He wanted to rail at the man but he refused to expend the energy. Instead, he rose swiftly to his feet and headed towards the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and said in a steely voice, not looking back, "Sorry to have bothered you. I thought you were someone else." McKay left the door ajar as he strode quickly down the hallway.

_I once met another version of you . . . he was a hero . . . he saved the world._ The memory of McKay's voice floated back to John and he grimaced as a wave of anger and self-loathing washed over him. Damn it! Damn McKay! He wasn't a hero; he was just a guy trying to do what he needed to to get by. He knew he could call Carmine and find out what was on the grape vine. Carmine owed him for blowing the poker game with the wraith that in turn left most of his winnings on the table that night. That wasn't the point. The point was that in order for John to survive with any sanity at all, he couldn't afford to get involved – to care too much. He couldn't afford to trust anybody but himself. John knew that teamwork was all good and fine until it came time for someone to hang – then someone was getting thrown under the bus – more than likely him.

Even as this ran through his mind, John had already pulled on his shoes and shirt and had headed out the door after McKay. Turning the corner, John could hear the elevator doors shutting "McKay! Wait!" John slid to a stop in front of the doors impatiently punching the button. "Come one, come on, come on."

John rode down, concentrating on keeping his temper as the elevator stopped for tourists, retired couples and newlyweds. As the doors parted into the lobby John pushed his way out frantically looking for McKay. John could just see him across the casino floor heading out the side door. "McKay!" he shouted but could not make himself heard over the sound of the slot machines and lounge singers.

John moved as quickly as he could through the throng of people. McKay couldn't be more than two-three minutes ahead of him. John plunged out into the alley looking up and down the street, spying the dark sedan pulling away. Heaving a sigh, he turned to head back to hotel when the sound of screeching tires had him instinctively spinning and crouching at the same time.

As John watched, an unmarked white van halted blocking the alley exit and in broad daylight three men pumped about fifteen shots into the sedan, blowing out the windows and tires. John reached for his gun and swore when he realized he had left in the room. Looking up, he began moving as a barely conscious McKay was pulled from the back seat by two of the men and unceremoniously thrown into the back of the van, while the third one covered them. The door slid shut and the van sped away leaving John Sheppard in the alley, yelling, "NO!"


	3. Chapter 3

McKay collapsed bonelessly to the floor of the closet. It had been a long session and Rodney was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. Images kept flashing in this brain, things he knew were important – he just couldn't put a name to them. A Scottish brogue, a ring of swirling water, a mop of dark hair above a cocky grin, stained glass windows. He was unsure how long he had been held captive and still didn't know what they were doing to him or what they wanted. He vaguely remembered that he was looking for something – no, someone – important. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember who. Was it Jeannie? Had she wandered off again? Rodney sighed as the darkness of the closet began to invade his mind and he gratefully let go as consciousness left him.

***************************

John eyed the warehouse from a block away. The information had been absurdly easy to gather once John had found his source. Carmine had indeed been incredibly helpful - after John had broken two of his fingers. Yeah, John thought wearily, I'm going to have to leave town after this one. John didn't think too much about the 'interview' although he did smile when he remembered the look on Carmine's face when John had calmly informed him that he no longer worked for LVPD and therefore didn't have to worry about charges of police brutality.

John didn't examine his intentions too closely. He was acting purely on instinct and gut feeling – not logic. If asked, he couldn't say why the missing scientist mattered to him so much – only that he did and John would do whatever was necessary to get him back. If that meant John was going to have to hurt some people, well, then they had it coming.

John eyed the top floor of the old building. According to Carmine, it had been recently purchased by a bunch of Russian ex-patriots determine to make Mother Russia a global power again. Carmine had said (through his gasps of pain) they were in the states, meeting with American scientists who may have qualms about the wars in the mid-east. They were working on an unlimited power source of some kind.

It all sounded too convenient, and given his recent experiences, too familiar, to John and so he thought he would follow the hunch. To be fair, he had tried to contact the StarGate program but the phone number McKay had left him turned out to be a personal number and had been turned off at the source. He had thought that maybe he should head out to Area 51, but that would take several hours and he didn't want to wait. It wasn't like he could call information and ask for the number of the top secret facility.

John checked his weapon once more and his pockets for extra clips. Quietly getting out of the car, John stealthily walked to the rear of the building and the fire escape he had spied earlier. Dressed in black cargo pants and tee, he tried to move quickly but silently up the old stairway to the roof. Gaining a token of confidence when no alarms were raised, John pulled his trusty lock pick kit from one of his pockets. Holding a penlight between his teeth, he made quick work of the old lock and silently slipped through the door.

John stole down the stairs. Pulling his automatic from the back of his pants, John flipped the safety off and peeked around the corner. If he had stopped to think about it, it was amazing how quickly his military training had come back to him. It had been four years since his discharge and yet it seemed like yesterday – and a lifetime ago. As it was, John did his best to push the memories away and concentrate on the here and now.

Creeping down the hallway, John checked each door and moved on. He didn't want to stop to pick the locks – it would take too much time. The top floor yielded nothing and John moved down to the third floor. Just as he was easing the stairway door open, voices stopped him – voices in Russian. John pressed himself against the wall behind the door in case the men decided to come through but breathed a sigh of relief as they passed by. Slipping through the door, John glanced around the corner noticing the guard at the far end of the hall. Bingo!

John slipped back into the stairwell and looked around. Opening the glass door to his left, John quietly removed the fire extinguisher. He wasn't sure if this was a smart plan but it was all he had. Taking a deep breath, he started to throw the extinguisher down the stairs when something occurred to him. "Really bright, John." He quickly returned the extinguisher and then eased back out into the hall. Taking a deep breath, John closed his eyes and with every bit of concentration he had, thought, "ON! ALARM! ON! ALARM!"

It was a strange feeling for John - luck was with him and he could vaguely hear the sound of McKay's scanner wailing through the door. John looked and could see the puzzled look on the guard's face as he turned, pulled the keys and opened the door. Stealing down the hall, John placed his hand on the doorknob waiting. When he felt the door begin to pull, he pushed as hard as he could, slamming the door into the stunned guard's face, McKay's scanner flying out of his hand. John put the guard out of commission quickly with two quick jabs to the jaw.

Pulling the guard to the corner and shutting the door, John thought "Off" and the scanner went quiet. Pocketing the devise, he looked around and saw nothing out of order. Discouraged, he was about to leave when he heard a scraping noise. Looking around again, John noticed the floor length mirror in the corner didn't look just right. Moving closer, he ran his fingers along the edges, and finding a catch, he opened the door.

"Aw God, No." John muttered taking in the still form of Rodney McKay. Blood was seeping from his nose and ears and he was deathly pale. John was sure that his nightmare was coming true and he dropped to his knees, pulling the scientist into his lap. "McKay? Oh God! Answer me, damn it!" John felt Rodney's neck and at the same time he felt the weak heartbeat, he noticed McKay's eyes flicker. "McKay? Rodney? Can you hear me?"

"John?" Rodney McKay stared up into the last face he expected to see.

The relief that swept through John left him weak and nauseous. He couldn't believe the shape the scientist was in with burns along his hairline and bruises on his neck and wrists. "I've got to get you out of here." John muttered more to himself than the man he was cradling. "Can you stand?"

"Wha? Huh?" McKay muttered as John moved around and grabbed his forearm, McKay immediately grasping John's forearm and letting the other man pull him up. John took a minute to steady him. "You okay?"

"Are you kidding?" McKay mumbled holding his head willing it to stop spinning.

John shrugged apologetically. "Well, you know, relatively?"

McKay didn't answer and watched through slitted eyes as John moved the unconscious guard into the closet and locked the door. Taking McKay by the arm, John moved to the door and peaked out. Seeing no one, he lead / carried the scientist down the hallway to the stairwell, the entire time thinking, "This is too easy . . ."

As the men stumbled down the stairs, John almost fell as Rodney came to an abrupt halt.

"What the hell, McKay!"

"Zelenka! We have to find Zalenka."

John stared at the doctor for a moment for whispering anxiously, "What! No, there's no time, we have to go. We can send help back for him."

McKay was swaying on his feet but adamantly shaking his head. "No, we can't leave him. They'll kill him."

John grimaced as a hundred things ran through his mind. It wasn't that he didn't care about the other scientist. It was just that now that he had found McKay, he didn't want to risk losing him again. Every second they stayed, they risked discovery.

"McKay . . ."

Rodney grasped John's arms as intense blue eyes bore into desparate green ones. "We can't leave him behind . . . I won't . . ."

John was held by that intense gaze for 10 seconds before relenting. If nothing else, he understood what drove the man. "Okay, okay, we'll find your buddy. Do you have any idea where . . ." John never finished the sentence as alarms began to sound. "Change of plans," he announced shoving the scientist down the stairs again. "Go, Go, Go!"

The two men reached the bottom floor and John pushed Rodney back against the wall as he pulled his gun and checked the hallway. Unfortunately, the exit door was 60 feet down the hallway and John could hear shouting coming from the opposite way. Ducking back into the stairwell, he looked the scientist over. He looked like death on a stick.

"How bad is it?" Rodney asked.

John grimaced. "Bad enough. Go back up!" John started pushing Rodney back up the stairs when they heard the top floor door fly open and feet pounding down the stairs. "Damn, Damn, Damn!" Sheppard muttered.

"Eloquent," Rodney replied out of breath as he was shoved through a door and down yet another hallway.

"Appropriate," John answered through gritted teeth. They were so totally screwed. John heard feet coming around the corner and pushed Rodney behind him as he took up a defensive position. Unfortunately, more guards burst through the stairwell door and they were surrounded.

John took a deep breath and bowed his head a minute to keep his anger under control – then he carefully held his hands up and placed the weapon on the floor. Standing up, he didn't move as he kept himself between the soldiers and McKay.

The guards parted as a middle aged man of 220 lbs. made his way through. John took in the cigar, the Russian military uniform circa 1982 and the grim expression and concluded this must be the man in charge. He was proven correct when the man rumbled, "Ah, Dr. McKay. Tell me, who is your friend?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This story kinda took on a life of its own, leaving my outline behind. It took me several drafts of this chapter to get it back on track. I'm still not crazy about the result but it was holding up the story so I went ahead and posted. It's not my best work but it gets us where we need to be for the next installment so please be kind. I'm certain it will get better – probably – most likely. Was that a McKayism?

SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA SGA

Rodney McKay's mouth opened once . . . twice . . . and still nothing came out. A barrage of lies raced through his mind but none of them seemed believable enough to actually voice. He didn't notice John had taken a protective stance in front of him until John's tense posture slowly unwound into a slouch as he shuffled next to Rodney.

"Edward Blake." John answered in a low growl. Rodney almost snorted but luckily didn't. He didn't know what Sheppard had up his sleeve but he thought the pseudonym was probably as fitting as it was amusing.

"Ah, Mr. Blake. And exactly who do you work for? U.S. Military? CIA? Stargate Command perhaps?"

If John was stunned about the terrorist's knowledge he made no show of it. In fact, he leaned casually again the wall and crossed his arms. "Mikey McMulhearn. Know him?" he asked slyly.

The general showed his surprise. "Who is this Mikey McMulhearn?"

"Loan Shark? Irish mafia? Owns half the strip clubs south of Smoke Ranch?"

When no reply came forth, Rodney watched as John sighed impatiently. Rodney didn't know if it was the two days worth of stubble on Sheppard's face or just a shift in his posture – in his eyes – but suddenly John Sheppard looked unpredictable . . . dangerous. The impression doubled in magnitude when John suddenly lunged at him. Before McKay had realized what had happened, John Sheppard had pulled the scientist in front of him, twisting his arm up behind his back and placing a knife to his throat. An unrecognizably menacing voice came from behind Rodney, "I'll kill him if I have to . . ."

"Oh God," Rodney muttered his eyes fluttering shut for a minute. He had been wrong. Stupid. Just like Woolsey had said. The man holding him hostage was too damaged and now Rodney was going to die for being egotistical enough to think he could save John Sheppard.

The General held up his hands in a placating gesture, walking towards the two men. "Mr. Blake, I'm not sure what you want with the Good Doctor but I'm sure an arrangement can be made."

The knife at Rodney's throat dug deeper, pain lancing up through his head. He could feel blood begin to flow down his neck into his shirt and closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable outcome.

"Take one more step and you'll be mopping up McKay for the next couple of hours." John said in a low determined voice.

The general stopped and took two steps back, motioning his soldiers to slightly lower their weapons. "Perhaps if you told me what your interest in Dr. McKay was . . . "

John sneered. "Dr. McKay here thought he was smart enough to run the table. Thought he was some kind of rain man and all he needed was a small stake and he'd outwit the system and make a mint."

Rodney's eyes widened as he listened to the preposterous tale John spun.

"When it didn't quite work out that way, he skipped out, leaving Mikey holding the bag. I'm just here to deliver the 'Good Doctor' back to Mikey so payment can be made."

The general narrowed his eyes as he considered the story. The man certainly looked desperate enough to kill the scientist but something wasn't right.

"You really expect me to believe . . .."

"I don't really care what you believe. I just knew it was pretty good money. But no amount of money is worth dying for so let me tell you what is going to happen." John twisted Rodney's arm harshly making him cry out. "I'm going to take that elevator behind you and Mr. Wizard and I are going to go to the first floor. We are then going to walk out the front of the building and to my car. You're welcomed to follow me until that time when I will get in my car and drive away leaving the scientist for you in the parking lot.

"And what makes you think I won't kill you where you stand?" the general snarled.

John started to angle his back towards the elevator, pulling McKay with him. "You could, but there is always the chance that you could hit McKay and I'm betting right now he means a lot more to you than I do. Besides, I've died before," John said with a bitter smile. "Doesn't really bother me anymore."

As John moved, the knife slipped in his hand cutting Rodney again and making him cry out. Suddenly the general realized that John was perfectly serious and motioned his men to back off. John smiled again wolfishly, hitting the button and maneuvering him and his hostage into the elevator. As the door slid shut, John sighed, released McKay and hit the stop button. He could hear the terrorist shout, "Downstairs! Everyone downstairs!"

Rodney eyed John warily rubbing his sore arm. He grimaced as he reached up and felt the thin cuts that were bleeding like a war wound. Unsure he asked, " so are you killing me or are we escaping?"

John smiled like a shark and it made Rodney slightly nervous. "Good, if you were unsure then I'm sure I convinced him. John reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a roll of gauze. "You're neck's bleeding," he said tossing it towards McKay.

"Thanks to you. Now what?" Rodney groused dabbing at his neck.

"I'm working on it."

"Great! That's just . . . brilliant," McKay huffed.

"Hey, I'm open to ideas. You can't do anything with this, can you? Make it into a grenade?"

McKay caught the scanner John had pulled from yet another pocket. How many pockets did he have, anyway? "Of course, I can't. That's just a standard scanner. I could just point it at them and see if maybe the radiation doesn't kill them in oh say 40 years. That's just like you military types."

"I haven't been a military type for a long time," John said rubbing his eyes wearily.

Rodney stopped in mid rant, not sure what to say. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. Snapping his fingers, he said, "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Can we get to the roof?"

"I came in that way," John replied uncertainly. "Why?"

Rodney ripped the back of the scanner and pulled out the wires. "We need to be as high as possible."

"Ooookay." John restored the power to the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.

McKay continued to work feverishly until the doors parted on the top floor. John had to nudge him to get his attention. "Move, McKay."

"Yeah, right." Rodney muttered back still looking at the device. Moving quickly, John led Rodney to the stairs he had used earlier and bustled the distracted scientist upward. As John pulled the door shut, he heard shouting behind him. He quickly looked around and found an old antenna that he could use to wedge the door shut. Putting the aluminum pole in place, he grimaced. That wasn't going to hold for long. "Now what?" he shouted.

"Just a minute, Detective."

John looked over the edge of the roof and saw men with guns at all four corners. "We don't have minute McKay."

John had rushed back to check the door when McKay yelled, "I've got it!" John turned taking in the scientist sitting on the roof, blood still seeping from his neck, hair sticking up – he looked like a mad man. John was about to ask what he had when the first bullets punctured the metal of the door.

"Shit!" John yelped as he threw himself to the side, one of the bullets grazing his thigh. Lying on his back, John suddenly wondered, "What the hell am I doing here?" He was almost jumped when he opened his eyes and McKay's face was all he saw.

"Are you okay?" McKay asked anxiously maneuvering around Sheppard to hold him up from behind.

"I'm fine," John growled, shrugging off the help. "Get off!"

"No we need to be touching when . . ."

McKay's reply was cut short when the metal door and its weak reinforcement gave way and the roof filled with soldiers. The M16 rifles pointing at the two men kept them still.

"Well, Mr. Blake. I guess you care more about our Dr. McKay than you let on. No matter."

John looked up at Rodney and smiled crookedly. "I think this is the part where I get thrown off the roof . . . but I seriously doubt he is the smartest man on Earth."

"Shoot him!" the general ordered.

McKay pulled him closer and said softly in John's ear, "No, that would be me." John knew nothing more as a brilliant white light filled his vision.

**Authors Note: **

**Watchmen Spoiler Alert!** **Read no further if you haven't read the graphic novel or seen the movie and you don't want the ending blown!**

Edward Blake is the real name of one of the Watchmen, the Comedian, a morally dubious and disillusioned 'hero' who was thrown out a skyscraper window by another one of the Watchmen, Adrian Veidt/Ozymandias, believed to be the smartest man in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

John blinked his eyes. He wasn't dead – again. "What the hell?" The body that had been holding him abruptly disappeared and John remembered McKay's fragile state. "Medic!" John yelled, twisting around to check the scientist who was out cold. Looking up, John got the shock of his life.

To his left was nothing but black and stars – more stars than he had ever seen in his life. To his right – He must be dreaming. After all, there may be white haired life-sucking vampire aliens but there weren't really skinny, little, big headed, gray aliens with black eyes . . . . were there?

Suddenly someone was rushing towards him, reaching for McKay and John acted instinctually, cocking back his arm ready to swing. However, he never got the punch off as someone behind him caught his arm.

"Stand down, Sheppard!" a commanding voice ordered. John looked up - the first thing catching his attention was the insignia on the uniform.

"Yes sir," John replied automatically slouching down beside McKay, exhausted. The medic came forward again, checking both his and Rodney's vitals and John's leg. John heard the medic say, "They're good for transport Colonel." And once again was enveloped in a white light.

SGASGASGASGASGASGASGA

John became slowly aware of the sounds around him. The beep of medical monitors, the shuffle and low murmur of people. "Wow! Massive deja-vue." John thought as he pried his eyes open.

"Detective?"

John waited for his vision to clear before muttering, "McKay?"

"He's fine," the soft Scottish voice said. "A wee banged up but I've seen worse."

John's eyes popped open as something occurred to him. "The other one? The little Russian guy?"

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "Oooch – don't let him hear you say he's Russian. Radik is fine as well. The colonel sent a troop of marines in to get him. You just relax, lad. Everything is taken care of."

John smiled slightly. "Sounds just like Scotty on Star Trek . . ." he thought as he allowed himself to drop off to sleep again.

The next time John woke, he felt better than he had in days. Carefully he stretched as his jaw cracked in an achingly wide yawn. Looking around, he noticed that McKay was asleep in the next bed and John felt relief flood his body. He had done it – he had gotten McKay out. For the first time in years, the dead weight he carried in his stomach, the knot that had been there since Afghanistan, loosened just a bit.

"Detective."

John whipped his head around and took in the slight man in front of him. Salt and pepper hair, sharp eyes, narrow face and – shit – General's rank.

"Yes, sir." John answered before he could stop himself.

The man looked up from the file in his hands. "You're not in the military anymore Detective. Just call me Jack."

"Yes, sir." John replied and then grimaced. 10 years in the military and the habit was quite possibly ingrained for life.

The general smiled. "Think you feel up to some questions? A debriefing?"

A gruff voice answered from the next bed over. "Not before breakfast."

"Ahh, Dr. McKay, you're awake and pleasant as ever," Jack replied, the slight smile taking any harshness from the words. He moved to stand between John and Rodney's bed.

"Yes, well, you have your brains scrambled by Mother Russia's red-headed step children and see if you feel like pulling out Erma Bombeck Rules of Polite Conversation."

The general looked back down at the file. " I lost my copy. Can I borrow yours?"

John snorted and Rodney rolled his eyes. Looking at John, he said, "Don't encourage him."

"I was just getting ready to ask the Detective some questions." O'Neil said, ignoring the dig.

"Yes, well, he's not a detective anymore." Rodney replied with a slightly defensive tone.

"Be that as it may, I'm sure Mr. Sheppard can shed some light on exactly what happened and how someone managed to snatch two leading scientists from the most secret project in the U.S. Military."

"You're not suggesting he had something to do with this are you?" Rodney said, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't get your panties in a twist McKay," Jack assured. "We aren't accusing anybody of anything. We're just interested in finding out how Sheppard was able to locate you and Zalenka within 24 hours of you disappearing when the entire military had been looking for three weeks."

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" John asked

Completely ignoring John, Rodney continued. "Well, you can't expect us to answer questions on an empty stomach."

"Well, never say I was suicidal enough to stand between you and the mess, McKay. Besides, I didn't invite you."

Rodney swung his legs out of the bed, saying, "That is entirely beside the point. Where the hell is my uniform?" he bellowed and was pleased to see a nurse scurry to the other room.

"Rodney! You are disturbing my other patients!" Carson Beckett strode into the enclosure with a frown on his face. Noticing the visitor, Carson nodded his head. "General O'Neil."

"Carson, where are my pants?" Rodney demanded.

"And just where do you think you are going?" Carson replied checking John's vitals.

Rodney looked pointedly at O'Neil. "John and I are going to breakfast in the mess. It's a wonder we were able to even recover to this point on the gruel you provide the prisoners in the dungeon of Castle Malpractice."

Both Carson and O'Neil rolled their eyes. "Are they healthy enough to get a bite in the mess?" O'Neil asked.

"Aye, if they go slow and come back right after. I don't want Mr. Sheppard pulling the stitches in his leg."

John closed his eyes again and leaned back on the pillow. "Maybe they can't hear me and this is all a bad dream and I'll wake up any minute," he muttered.

"I feel that way every time I have to deal with McKay," Jack replied.

The nurse who scurried out before came through the curtain timidly with a uniform and a set of black BDU's with no name or insignia. She handed them to Carson and hurried back out, never looking up.

"Now, look. You've gone and traumatized poor Renee'." Carson scolded Rodney as he handed the clothes over.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure she'll have to seek therapy for years to come," Rodney replied caustically. Turning back to O'Neil, he said, "Do you mind? I need to change clothes."

"Talk about bad dreams . . . ." O'Neal replied as he and Carson slipped out of the curtain so the two men could dress.

John swung out his bed and turned his back on McKay. Looking down at the BDUs he hesitated. He hadn't worn military issue clothing in 10 years.

"You okay?" Rodney asked from behind him.

John cleared his voice before answering, "I'm fine."

"Of course you are," Rodney replied grumbling

"Just a little fuzzy on how we got here." John replied trying to cover his anxiety. Slowly he pulled off his scrubs and gently began pulling the BDUs over the stitches in his leg and mass of bruises on his back.

"Well, that was just a small stroke of genius from me. I was able rewire the scanner to be a communication devise. I then sent a code out that is standard for immediate transport to the Datelaus, which was in orbit. They transported us to the bridge and then back down to SGC.

"SGC?" John asked slipping on the boots that had been provided.

"Star Gate Command."

John thought about it for a minute. "So, you built a communicator?"

"Yep," Rodney replied, his voice smug if somewhat muffled by the tee shirt he was pulling over his head.

John glanced behind him. "Couldn't you have just used a cell phone?"

Rodney stopped with his over shirt half one and half off, face red and hair sticking up in all directions. "You had a cell phone?" he asked incredulously. "You didn't think that would be important to mention?" He sputtered.

John actually hadn't thought about it. He didn't typically have anyone to call for help and in all the mayhem had actually forgotten he had it.

"I didn't think about it," John said. Slowly he stood and again was surprised by how good he felt, considering what he had been through in the last couple of weeks. Turning to Rodney, he noticed that the scientist didn't look quite as well.

"You didn't think about it?!?" Rodney stammered out disbelievingly. John couldn't help it – he grinned.

"I . . . you . . . oh forget about it!" Rodney spat out "Idiot."

"What? We're fine! We . .. Hey! You okay?" he asked as Rodney listed to the side, almost losing his balance.

"Headache," Rodney replied, rubbing his eyes and straightening up. "Happens when someone shoots god knows how much asionic energy into your brain, looking for God knows what."

"Uh-huh," John answered again unsure what to say. "You sure you feel up to breakfast?"

"I'm on the verge of a hypoglycemic episode. Food is a better cure than anything we could find in this torture chamber."

"Okay," John replied, not really believing him but following Rodney through the curtain anyway. General O'Neal was waiting for them by the door.

"Gentlemen?" Jack said, ushering them into the hallway. "Hummph," Rodney replied.

Jack followed the two men and watched as they went down the hall. Sheppard kept glancing to his left, body tense, seemingly to make sure McKay wasn't going to stumble – especially since McKay kept rubbing his head like he had the hangover from hell. In turn, Jack had seen McKay walk faster with a concussion and broken limb but he seemed to be conscious of Sheppard's hurt leg and slowed his pace to accommodate the limp. Jack wondered if he had ever seen McKay that consciences of someone else's limitations. Nope.

Suddenly, Jack's radio squawked as a brief siren sounded.

"Report," Jack barked.

"Unscheduled gate activation, Colonel," came back the reply.

"On my way." He turned swiftly, heading to the gate room, vaguely aware that McKay was following him.

John hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure whether he should go or not. But McKay was the only person he knew here and he wasn't about to let him out of his sight so he tried to hurry behind the two men. However, the stairs were a bitch.

Once he hit the door, he could see he was in a control room of some sort. He spotted McKay and started forward but was stopped by an MP with a gun already pulled and pointed.

"McKay!" John shouted over the noise of the other people and the siren.

Rodney looked up confused and realizing John had been stopped at the door, waved the MP back. "He's with me, Sergeant." The MP looked doubtfully at the scientist and slowly holstered his weapon mumbling, "Yes, Sir."

John limped over to Rodney and stared down into the cavern below.

The Stargate. John remembered everything that Rodney had told him about the Stargate and the SG program. Hell, he had even sat in the chair but he never really believed it.

"What have we got, Walter?" O'Neal asked the technician tensely.

"We have Sergeant Bates' IDC code." Walter looked at Jack meaningfully.

"Really?" Rodney asked.

"Open a channel," Jack ordered.

"What's the deal?" John asked Rodney quietly.

"Bates was captured by the wraith over six months ago. He's been MIA ever since . . ." Rodney replied grimly.

"This is SCG. Identify yourself," Jack was commanding.

The voice that came out of the speakers was breathless and a distinct roar could be heard under the wail of sirens in the background. "This is Bates. Request the Iris be dropped."

Jack looked at another technician behind him.

"Voice identification is a match, Colonel. It's him."

"Right," Jack said. Hitting the com, Jack replied. "Permission Granted." Looking at Walter again, "Open the Iris," he commanded softly.

Suddenly the gate came to life with an energy that was both unearthly and yet somehow familiar to John. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes widened. There were few things in John's life that he found truely beautiful but this had just made the list.

"We're coming in hot," Bates yelled as a blast sent the security team on the floor scrambling behind barricades.

"That wasn't any kind of hand held weapon," Rodney said with surprise in his voice. "That looked more like a . . ."

Anything McKay might have said was cut off when a ragged group of a dozen men and women, one carrying a child, staggered through the gate. Four of them were carrying a litter that held a fallen comrade and many of them were not in uniform – or at least uniforms that John recognized.

The final soldier - a woman - to come through actually seemd to be flying. Bates yelled again, "Shut it Down!"

Walter hit the center of the console and the iris slid shut just as an energy wave hit the shield with a tremendous reverberating sound, shaking the walls of the cavern

The group stumbled, desperate to keep the litter from dropping. "We need a doctor!" the final soldier, a woman with reddish brown hair yelled anxiously, smoothly coming to her feet and looking up at the control room.

"Is that Teyla Emmagan?" Rodney asked bewildered.

"Who?" both John and Jack asked simultaneously as medics and MPs swarmed over the group.

"The leader of the Athosian people – from the Pegasus Galaxy. What is she doing here?"

Before anyone could answer, Jack's radio chirped again. "General? I think you need to come down here and see this."

"You two stay here," Jack ordered tersely as he exited the control room only to reappear on the floor a few minutes later.

"General O'Neal! Please you must help us!" The woman McKay had identified as the leader of the Athosians grasped his sleeve, taking Jack back a bit. Atlantis had only a basic working relationship with the Athosians – in fact, they tolerated each other but that was about it. He certainly had never met any Athosians and was surprised their leader knew his name.

Gently he pulled his arm from her grasp, saying, "I'm sure we will do everything we can." He looked over MP who had called him and said, "Well?"

"The wounded, General," the MP said looking.

O'Neal looked down but couldn't see around the three working medics. Looking back at the MP, he asked "What about him, Sergeant?"

"It's him, sir."

"Him who?" O'Neal replied impatiently

"The civilian from the control room sir."

Jack looked back down confused just a one of the medics pulled away from the patient. He could only manage a surprised, "Huh!" as he looked down into the pale unconscious face of John Sheppard.


End file.
